


Sweat Black

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Captivity, Dehumanization, Frottage, M/M, Mental Instability, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Rape, Mermechs, Moral Ambiguity, Scientific Research, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shockwave is finally able to get his hands on the live specimen he needs but makes a fatal mistake: he becomes attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat Black

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday gift to my sweet friend robotseverywhere on Tumblr! I love you and hope you enjoy a new year of your life!!

The ocean was as cool and flat as the surface of a desert plain, barring the ripples of the hovercraft’s purring engine, swirling rainbows tinted with the morning sky across the shore’s reflection. Objectively, he knew this was beautiful. The mechs assisting the pull had commented on the good weather several times during boarding and the voyage itself, in the way that gruff people did when they could not openly admit they found something pretty. Small fish nipped at the air and ducked away from the steel sheen of gulls overhead, tranquil, open. Painterly, as it was.

Shockwave did not see it. To him, the open sheen of blackish oil and technicolor life was but another expanse of unexplored territory to be pursued, teaming with fodder for his experiments. That was not to say he did not understand the concept, but he did not find something as mediocre as the natural state of Cybertron as fitting the bill. His thoughts were focused elsewhere, below the surface, where the traps laid weeks before were slowly emerging, silver wash of mercury sliding from the cabled nets to return to its own depth. Already he could see the purples and greens of the lower sea creatures blurring into view beneath the sheen of the ocean’s surface, slow in approach.

“The weight is as 36.03T, sir.”

One of the mechs by the winch saluted him as he approached, back stiff with fear. It was a good enough catch, at least by initial observation, but these soldiers were young and new to the crew and had not expected their patron to actually accompany their maiden voyage. Their company had been stocking Shockwave’s lab for stellar cycles now, but his appearance on board was a new development, largely because they were finally getting close to achieving their goal.

“Excellent.”

Taking his place beside the crew, Shockwave watched in silent contemplation while they heaved, slouching deeply against the sun’s heat. He did not like complete exposure as the sea brought.

“There! The corner of blue, right there!”

The net had not quite reached the surface yet, but they had spotted something amidst the oils that drew the crew not taking ballast to the edge of the ship, leaning over the hovercraft’s side to get a better glimpse.

“That’s it!”

“Don’t get your hopes up. We’ve had three hauls with blue before that were just scrap ends mixed with fish.”

“No- no, see? A hand!”

With a great gasp, the net and its contents burst from the placid surface of the bay, making the ship sway a bit as excess fluids poured from the catch. The crowd parted to grasp the cables, dragging the swinging net over the edge and dumping it with a wet splatter across the deck. Bleeding black and grey, a mass of tails and fins and teeth writhed in the open air. Shockwave craned his neck to see over the backs of the workers as they shifted and prodded the pile. A wild gasp erupted from several mouths at once, and he strode forward, forcibly entering the ring of onlookers to witness his bounty.

They were still moving the fish away, but the blue frame was clearly visible amidst the more murky colors of the deep. It was larger than the rest of the creatures, the dark tail dwarfing most of the gasping fish beside it. Its arms, for that was what they were, tangled in the net and seemed unable to move. There were cuts and scrapes around them as though it had struggled, and as the oil cleared a small pink tinge began to follow, energon seeping from the wounds where it was tightest. Though it was partially obscured by flapping tails and worn by starvation, its face, a mech’s face, was still visible between the net rungs.

“Primus beneath,” someone whispered. Shockwave watched the dim optics flicker, barely awake, the recognition of horror clear across its features.

“Good.”

* * *

 

It was small, compared to the average Decepticon; thin and wiry, built for speed and apparently little else. Its chest consisted of an angular polyglass cover, black over the electric blue that made it so visible in the dark seas. The upper torso, arms, and head were all very Cybertronian in nature, even if they were weak and svelte, but for the fins on the arm backs and the long waving crest that began at the forefront of the cranial cover and continued down to the lower middle segment of the spine. Shockwave assumed its purpose was both for streamlining and decoration, given its delicate fibrous weave of materials. The creature’s tail was almost entirely black, curving downwards to sharp flukes that had been rather badly damaged in the netting.

It was apparent the creature had been captured early in the net, left there with no sustenance until they plucked it from the oils and badly weakened for it. Shockwave was not a stranger to these animals, and had dissected many brought up in the past, but this was an exceptional catch in one factor: the beast was alive. Most of them harmed themselves too badly in their attempts to escape and were found dead or died shortly after. Their sacrifice was his benefit, however, as Shockwave felt safe in his understanding of the necessary dietary supplements and physical conditions necessary for its survival.

Now it lay, half submerged beneath a shallow tank of sea oil brought in with the catch and hooked to a line of low grade energon, as Shockwave observed with great pleasure the rise and fall of its chest as both the gilled vents along its helm and its thin lips swayed, double air intakes at work. His theories were indeed correct. Each ventilation sounded painful, exhaling soft scratches of static mixed with air. He had had it cleaned but no more, leaving the natural healing process to do as it did under the watch of a myriad of cameras and sensory props stationed around the tank, thin as a coffin. Six solar cycles had passed, and it was only now approaching wakefulness.

Processor activity signs spiked. Its pale fingers, so small next to Shockwave’s claws, twitched. He moved to loom over the tank and was the first thing the glimmering optics focused on after coming online.

“Ah-!”

Its cry cut off in a harsh bark of static, hands flying to its throat as it coughed. There was immediate panic, but Shockwave had expected that. Arching up, the creature clawed ineffectually at the tank walls, lips flapping open and closed as its optics darted around the room, confused, angry. There was little room to move but it did so anyways, and quickly, thrashing so wildly in the box that Shockwave came to understand how they managed to hurt themselves so violently in the nets.

“Do you speak?”

Weakened already, the creature slumped back into the oil, panting until the polyglass fogged. It looked at him with an odd hatred, not quite solid.

“Creature, do you speak?”

He repeated the question, not exactly expecting an answer but fulfilling a curiosity anyways.

“What have you done to me,” the creature said.

* * *

 

It spoke, although not well; its words and sentences ran together in a fumbled race, though everyone uttered with complete conviction. It was fluent in three different dialects and had some experience with a good seven more, although it did not seem to see them as very different or great accomplishments from anything else it could do. Armed with its soft mesh skin, anger, and a rather shrill, reedy voice, it faced off against him, teeth grit and fists clenched, and _it_ was a _he_.

“I’m not giving you what you want, not ever, not by choice; I’m stronger than I look-!”

 He bit Shockwave’s finger, blunt teeth ineffectually pinching the metal. It did hurt, though not badly, but Shockwave remained still, hand extended, until the creature wore himself out and relinquished his hold, effectively cowed by being shown his own weakness.

“And what, exactly,” said Shockwave, wiping the oral solvent from his digit and then dropping the swab into a biological substance container, “do you think it is I want from you?”

“The same thing as the others of your kind,” the creature snarled, covering his mouth with one hand, likely having strained himself.

“Which is?”

This seemed to embarrass him, and he turned away to glare at the rest of the room.

“Do you have a formal designation?”

“Why are you so interested in me? Usually land mechs like you just want to kill us, or, or mate with us and then kill us, which, if you’re going to go through with, I would prefer you to do sooner than later because I find answering your questions more tedious and painful than the alternatives.”

“Mate with you?”

Shockwave leaned closer and the creature shied away from the glass.

“I had not considered that biologically possible. You are already proving yourself a worthy acquirement, whether you will it or not.”

Naturally this upset it. He smacked at the polyglass, possibly hoping to startle Shockwave and then becoming more frustrated when it did not.

“Does your kind use designations at all?”

It would not look at him, biting it’s lip, fidgeting it’s fingers. Shockwave had noticed it seemed to have a number of nervous ticks, always twisting and moving in the tank, fluttering the panels along its tail in the meager supply of oil at the bottom.

“You are a special case,” said Shockwave, watching interest try not to show in his captive’s optics, “because you are the only one of your kind we have ever caught alive. I had hoped to gather as much information from you as possible, given the high fatality rate of capture, but,” the bullet, “I suppose that we can always bring in more receptive captures in the future.”

“Blurr. My designation is Blurr, we all have formal designations, and yes, your kind is notorious for trying t-to mate with us. At least that’s how it’s told, and always has been told. Nobody had been disappearing until,” he stopped himself, looking away, the fear of his initial waking coming back to his features. It pleased Shockwave to see.

“Good, thank you.”

Blurr watched intently as he wrote the information down with light taps on a data pad, face wrought with growing realization.

* * *

 

“Please, I’m not supposed to be out of the oil for so long, my hydraulics-”

“Are fine. You can keep your body cool enough internally without breathing just fine. I know my laboratory is rust free and low tempered enough for even your delicate frame work. Do not attempt to lie your way out of your appointment again.”

Blurr was strapped to the examination table as he had been the past two point three cycles, heaving and awkward as his ‘appointment’ made way. Shockwave had been forced to carve a small groove into the table to allow for his dorsal fin to fit, laying him flat on his back, but even so the attractive curve of his breast and pelvic span did not escape his eye. He had reminded Blurr several times already that he should be thankful for his fate as it was, free from pain or death thanks to the corpses of his predecessors, but it had done nothing but make the small creature wince and hiss, trembling when Shockwave plugged the various data cables into his ports and rummaged through him like a file cabinet.

“I’m not lying, I just, I’m tired and I need to move, I need to swim somewhere or I’m going to go crazy!”

He hoped truth would get him more graces than lies. He had seen the weapons lined alone the walls, and the corners of the reference images Shockwave pulled up of his dissected brethren. He almost thought he recognized the black twist of fingers on one, spark shrinking in horror, throat swelled shut. Shockwave simply continued asking questions, flickering images across the monitor. It had been three solar cycles, though Blurr could not know that from his dark tank, and he was losing his will to fight for each klik spent lying on his side in the few inches of oil he was allowed, holding his arms against himself to feel the unsteady thrum of his pulse.

“I do not have the room for you to swim, yet. I have sent for construction to be done on a larger tank for you, however, as I do intend to eventually observe you in a more natural habitat.”

“A tank is not natural nor a habitat,” Blurr snapped, only the snap came out a whisper and the venom in it watered down to sugar.

“Advancements can only come from smaller beginnings which inform us how to evolve,” said Shockwave, pulling up another image on the monitor. It was a small red fish, one that Blurr commonly ate with his pod. Shockwave had been feeding his systems with energon, which kept him alive, but he required the extra nourishment of softer metals. His secondary fuel tank groaned in hunger at the sight.

“What do you see?”

“Food. Fuel.”

He did not want to speak, but he could not let himself die like this, like the rest of the bodies they found drifting across the waves, sliced to pieces, filled with holes. He would cooperate. He would live.

“I observed that all the creatures like you had recently eaten the living cyber matter of other sea dwelling creatures. It is a trait shared with Insecticons but not mechs like myself. How do you consider that?”

_How did he consider that._ Blurr did not care what this monster without a face consumed or did not consume. He looked up at the black ceiling, so different from the glassy veil of oils that dampened starlight into wax, glimmering on the backs of his friends. Things here were so colorless, the lights of the lab the only real reminders of the reds and yellows and greens that had once peppered his world. Shockwave was like a blanket of shadow himself, waiting to swallow him.

“I don’t. You’re a surface mech, you’re not like us. Like me, I mean. I wouldn’t even bother comparing us.”

“Your vision is blinded by hatred, but the hatred is misguided. I only aim to understand your kind more.”

“My people never killed yours in the name of science,” Blurr snarled, “and we never cut you to pieces for fun.”

“There are reports of your species boarding the ships of travelers in the night and murdering them as old as sixteen millennia.”

“They deserved it. They attacked us first.”

Shockwave’s helm tilted in a strange way.

“Have you ever killed a mech, Blurr?”

“No!”

He was quick to defend himself, perhaps too quick, but furious at the insinuation.

“I never had to! We’ve kept away from your kind since before I was hatched! That’s why we’re so ‘rare’ as you call it in the first place.”

“Because mechs like myself captured yours in the past. To mate?”

Blurr hissed loudly as Shockwave’s optic slid lower to the clean slit along his pelvic bowl. Shockwave had no such opening, covered much more carefully by a panel Blurr could not see the seams to. Had he not already known the tales he might have thought Shockwave was without interface ability at all.

“Yes. Because you are monsters.”

Shockwave looked back to his face.

“The term is relative,” he said, “but I will not deny it.”

* * *

 

The new tank was better, but Blurr still found himself trapped and it did not make him happier. It was closer to Shockwave’s desk, a side of the room he could not see before, and as he swam in circles he was treated with the sight of Shockwave writing and reading for cycles on end. Sometimes he attempted to splash oil far enough to reach him just to see what he would do, but it never made it that far and Shockwave did not seem to notice it. At night the cleaning drones would hover over and wipe up the spills, leaving a fresh canvas for a new day of tantrums.

He hated the nights worse than the days, even with Shockwave’s prodding, because those were the times when it was pitch black and there was nothing he could do but float and think, swim and think, feel the emptiness of his surroundings as his sonar clicked and pinged and nothing returned to him but the solid walls of polyglass and the even hum of the electricity outside it. He had threatened to go mad in hopes it would draw some kind of reaction from his captor other than indifference, but now that he was beginning to feel the creeping fear every time Shockwave plucked him from the lab table and deposited him back into his cramped home he regret ever saying it, as if he had jinxed himself.

“Isn’t there anything else you could have me do? Like read for you, I can learn to read like you, I’m sure, or, or move things?”

“Move things?”

Shockwave stopped undoing the clasp around his tail, giving him the same blank face as always.

“You can hardly move yourself, and I do not have any need for storage in oil.”

Blurr scratched at the silvery scars across his wrists, still there from the cables grasp. He had healed fine, Shockwave watching every detail of it, but he still felt the smooth metal his nanites had replaced it with when nervous, if he could.

“I just – I need,” he could not continue, looking away. He was groveling, to this monster, as he had always known he would, hoped he wouldn’t live to.

“You need something to do.”

The mech looked at him for a long moment.

“You have told me that in your pods you hunted and participated in socializing rituals as forms of entertainment. I cannot simulate these activities for you here.”

“I want to go home,” said Blurr, this time definitely too fast but with all the emotion in the world. Shockwave pushed the back of a claw against his cheek in a light caress, gentle as ever.

“You cannot. You are mine now.”

“I’m not anybody's!”

He writhed up, clawing and biting at Shockwave’s hand, though he had no claws or fangs to dig in, nor the strength to hold on. Furious, wild with hopelessness, he hit every surface of black protoform he could see, cut his fingers into the red glass on Shockwave’s hand, slapped at his waist with his tail hard enough to make the large bot shift his weight.

And it did nothing. Shockwave let him tire himself out, again, embarrassingly ineffectual, weak, useless. He was deposited back in his tank with the same carefulness with which Shockwave doted on all his tools, and began to sob in earnest. Shockwave did not leave until his wails turned to murmurs, then to silence, listening from his chair, but Blurr did not see him, pressed into the dark corner of his tank and sick with himself.

* * *

 

“Would you be happier living with me?”

Blurr stared dully at the floor, lying on his side on the table. Shockwave did not bother tying him down and he did not bother moving from where he had been set. The question took a moment to register.

“I already am, aren’t I?”

“I mean in my personal living quarters. If you need socialization, I can keep you there. I have guests who would be glad to observe you, as you have turned up some controversy lately.”

He could not imagine his existence outside this small world anymore, even though his memories remained bright and ghostly behind him. The idea that he had some kind of reputation beyond these walls was difficult to compute.

“You mean to show me off, like a pet.”

“Yes.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows, trembling from weakness. He had not accepted his fuel in days.

“Am I your pet?”

“I have not considered it,” said Shockwave, “though I can say concretely that you have outlived your days as an experiment. You are but one live subject; there is more to be learned from continued observation.”

He could not find it within himself to find fear in those words.

“What does that mean for me?”

“You could be my pet, if you wish.”

Blurr crawled to him, reaching for his claws.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, please, I don’t want to be in that little square, I want to touch people, I want to see things, I, I-!”

Shockwave picked him up and held him there, in his arms, like a ragdoll.

“Had you ever been alone in your life before me?”

“No,” said Blurr, shaking into his chest as his tail curled back, “no, no!”

* * *

 

 The new tank was larger, though it was still a tank. Blurr taught himself to appreciate it. Shockwave had his workers bring him fish from their expeditions, live if he was lucky, and he would throw them into the tank for Blurr to feed on when he was being exceptionally good or sad. The new tank was in the main room of Shockwave’s home, and he now had access to a window overlooking the vast expanse of Cybertron, though it was land and not sea. Many people came and went, all very interested in him and coming close to the glass to peer through the murky oil and see him swim or float. Sometimes they tapped, which he disliked, but Shockwave admonished them for it.

Sometimes, per Blurr’s request, he plucked him from the tank and walked him through the rooms in his arms, showing him things. Shockwave had been right; he could be without oil for longer periods than he had thought, though it gave him an immense sense of weight he did not enjoy. Still, it was sight, sound, and stimulus he would not be getting otherwise and he asked for it often. Shockwave never complained of the oil spots or the bother of it. Blurr loved him for it, despite everything, or perhaps because of everything. He could hardly remember freedom, though his dreams of it left him shaking and starved.

“I don’t know why you insist on getting more and more animals in your house,” said one mech, hand over her lips to stifle a yawn, “the upkeep seems so expensive when all it does is swim around in circles.”

“I acquired him for scientific purposes. He has more than paid off the bother it was getting him.”

“Yes, but why do you keep him? At least the worm plays games and guards the yard.”

“The worm is non-sentient. Oleumoids like this one are. He can speak and think like a normal mech.”

“Yes, but why _keep_ him?”

Shockwave did not bother to continue the argument. Blurr twitched and wriggled in his arms that night as they sat watching the news, a program Blurr did not understand nor care to, and found himself comfortable there.

“Why _do_ you keep me?”

Shockwave did not look away from the transmission screen.

“Because I am fond of you.”

“Why?”

“You are rare and beautiful,” he looked down, “and you are mine.”

Turning so he could brace his hands against Shockwave’s chest, Blurr stared at him, feelings things he did not understand and knew he should hate himself for. He was beginning to dry and so Shockwave stood and walked him back to where he would rest, but Blurr pawed at him to stop, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Shockwave’s neck so he dangled like an expensive bauble.

“What is Oleumoid?”

Shockwave cocked his head, not in confusion as the gesture implied but to think of an appropriate answer.

“You are. Your kind, specifically. I discovered you officially and so I named you, after the oils of the ocean. It is descriptive only.”

“You discovered us.”

Blurr repeated the words quietly, tasting bad in his mouth. Something kept him from commenting, though, and he nuzzled harder into Shockwave’s throat as they moved.

“Why do you have to be from the land?”

“Because if I was not you might have more to fear from me.”

Blurr pulled at him and kissed at his neck, fearing the silence of night more than anything, clicking into his shoulder and feeling the reverberations echo back to him. Shockwave’s frame seemed endless in his radar, deep as the ocean itself. He pressed himself into it, wanting to be immersed.

“Don’t put me back in the tank yet, please!”

He pawed and pushed, needing to remain close to that deepness, that expanse of feeling. He had feared torture and death so much during his initial capture, he had never imagined his greatest enemy would become his loneliness. He looked to his captor with worship in his spark.

“Please!”

“What would you have me do with you instead? Take you to the berth?”

“Anything, Shockwave, anything, anything!”

They were moving again, into a room he had never seen before. A slab of metal and padding, the berth? Shockwave set him down on it and stood, watching as Blurr rolled onto his side, looking up as he curled his tail inward to his belly. He wanted to be touched again, kneading the pad between his fingers.

“Show me how it works.”

“I-I don’t understand-!” but he wanted to, so badly. Anything.

“Mating. Interface. Show me how you do it.”

Claws flickered over his plating briefly, towards the slit on his pelvis. Blurr whined, a raw noise, feeling his spark contract with the fear of knowing. He could not risk refusing to oblige. Flattening out as best he could, he licked his fingers, fearing the dryness of land and what it would do to him, and rubbing them unceremoniously across his cut. Shockwave watched intently and he became bolder from it, hotter, even if he hadn’t expected to perform in this way, because he drank the affection as though it were his lifeblood.

“This is what you want, to mate with me, just like they said you would,” he cut himself off with a high noise, not quite yet a moan, “if that’s what you want, okay, alright, okay.”

His equipment was starting to pressurize under his touch, valve in particular swelling as he gently dipped a finger inside, stirring himself to better awareness. Shockwave did nothing to help him, simply watching, still as death. He wanted more so he tried to cant his hips outward, digging his fingers in deeper and holding himself open. He hadn’t mated in a while, not since before he was captured, of course, and it stung to move so quickly, but he feared he’d lose the attention he had if he did not act. That was foolish, of course, because Shockwave had been content to watch him do nothing at all in the past, but now things seemed urgent and he flapped his tail up and around, useless in the air, the great weight of the outside world.

“You’re hurting yourself.”

Shockwave leaned in, finally, reaching out and stilling his hand. Blurr hissed as though angry.

“I can do it! I can do it, I promise, don’t leave me yet-!”

Shockwave’s claw, smooth and dangerous, circled the outside of his slit, ghostly and teasing. Blurr’s ventilating hitched, and hitched again, until he was nearly hyperventilating and Shockwave had to press their helms together to calm him down. Twisting his digit carefully, he slid it inside the slit, just a little, feeling the pulse and contraction of a normal valve. He knew it would be there; his dissection of the first Oleumoids had shown as much, as well as a spike situated slightly higher up in the same cut. Still, it was a different thing altogether to see it at work on a live machine, Blurr grasping at his wrist to tug him closer. He had found the creature to be a distraction, a money suck, and yet he had been driven to keep him as close as possible, a true pet, not one of his lab experiments turned loose in the yard but a companion, a source of entertainment and calm.

“I will not leave you,” he purred, easing deeper into Blurr, rubbing their helms together as the Oleumoid shivered and gasped, “I will keep you right here, with me, for as long as I can.”

Blurr cried out at that, a high, empty sound that may have once been intended to represent joy. Shockwave cuddled him closer, flexing his claw until a fresh stream of lubricant bubbled up around it and spilled onto the berth. Perhaps aptly for a creature of his kind, Blurr was exceptionally wet, high in lubrication production in a way Shockwave had never experienced with true Cybertronians such as himself.

The tip of Blurr’s spike was poking from his genital slit now, bright banded blue and leaking a bit. There were little nubs of spongey sensory claspers beaded beneath the head and Shockwave used an uninhibited claw to prod and tweak them gently as he was able, watching as Blurr squirmed and squealed in his warble of a voice. Everything about him was slick and tender, shining with oily rainbows and wet lubricant. His spike popped free and Shockwave wrapped two claw tips around it, gently teasing and tugging it despite his low dexterity. Blurr jumped his hips up into the touch and inadvertently impaled himself deeper on Shockwave’s other digit, still pumping waves of fluid from inside him.

As he worked him, Shockwave nudged his way up onto the berth beside Blurr’s flapping tail. He caged he Oleumoid beneath him, craning his helm down to watch. Blurr’s optics, bleary with lust and confusion, gazed heavy lidded into his own. His mouth formed words with no sound.

“Please, please, please, please.”

Shockwave allowed his spike to slip from its sheath, barbed and painful looking against Blurr’s smooth scales. Yet he bucked and reached for it, running his thin fingers over the black metal with reverence, curling down to try and lap at the head as Shockwave continued to pump him. he knew he wouldn’t fit inside Blurr, not this time, but still he pulled his hands away, gently urging Blurr to lie back again, and rubbed the head against Blurr’s slit. Blurr squealed, an odd noise that might have sounded more erotic when submerged, and twisted to angle himself up as best he could, the dorsal fin along his aft making it difficult without fully raising his body off the berth. Shockwave assisted, cupping his beck and holding him closer, beginning to shift his hips in slow motions.

It was an awkward position and he had to shift on his knees and toes several times to get comfortable, but the weight of Blurr in his palm kept him focused and hot, fans turning loudly in the dark room. He pushed forward again and again, building up a slow rhythm that dipped the very tip of his spike head into Blurr’s valve and then popped it out to rub against the sticky nodes on Blurr’s shaft. It had Blurr panting and whining very quickly, but as they moved together the sounds turned from desperate to pleasurable, not simply relishing in the attention but the physical sensation itself. Something about it made Shockwave’s spark burn and he pushed only harder for it, somehow happy.

Blurr was rubbing up against him, hands flailing, and Shockwave guided one of them to his chest, working the tiny fingers between his own massive servos. Hissing, Blurr arched, his helm falling back to reveal his dark neck beautifully, and Shockwave nuzzled against it, jerking his hips hard. Crying out, Blurr flopped in his grasp and a small jet of lubricant pushed out around his spike head and Shockwave realized he was cumming. It was enough to send a shudder straight through his spark, and he pushed faster and faster as Blurr squirmed and cried, and suddenly his own tanks were contracting as he overloaded, transfluid splattering all down the smooth contours of Blurr’s frame.

They collapsed together, fish beside mech. Blurr was painted with silver streaks and pale condensation, and as his frame heaved Shockwave watched and surged again inside.

“You need to go back to the tank.”

Blurr moaned pitifully.

“I know, I know…”

“Do you miss me when I am not with you?”

Blurr gave him a look of anguish.

_“Yes.”_

Shockwave gave him a pity he had never known before.

“I will have your tank moved to my room.”

“I love you,” said Blurr, very suddenly, “I love you so much.”

Shockwave gave him a look, a strange look, one that spoke volumes of his lack of understanding, of his mutual need, of a loneliness deep and confused, but Blurr had no time to read it, helm pressed against Shockwave as he clicked and pinged, listening to the ocean inside his chest.

The next morning, the tank was moved into Shockwave’s berth room.


End file.
